


The Ring Of Fire

by darthrevaan (Burning_Nightingale)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Humor, RvB Fluff Week, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/darthrevaan
Summary: Sarge volunteers to help Wash train the troops.As it turns out, old dogs can learn new tricks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt: "Sarge "helping" Wash to train the Feds and News, by coming up with the craziest drills!" from ms-aqua-marvel in the last Fluff Week!

Wash is having a bad day.

Wash is having a very bad day for an astounding number of reasons, and it _really_ doesn’t need to be made worse by the sound of Sarge’s strident voice yelling, “Agent Washington!” at full volume from right behind him.

But of course, because this is Wash’s life, that is exactly what’s just happened.

Wash runs a hand down his face and says, “What?” in the shortest, most irritated manner he can possibly manage.

Sarge, forever oblivious to tone or nuance, stomps over to come stand in front of him. For once the old man isn’t wearing his helmet, and his face is critical as he looks Wash over. “You look tired, son,” he says gruffly.

Well, that was unusually perceptive. And caring. Wash eyes Sarge suspiciously. “I am. Tired,” he says bluntly.

Sarge nods slowly, looking like he expected that answer. It’s kind of obnoxious, actually. “Working yourself too hard training our recruits,” he says sagely.

There is no way _Sarge_ is suddenly concerned for his health; there has to be an angle. If Wash waits him out, he’ll probably just reveal what he wants through sheer impatience. “Probably,” Wash says, “but it’s important.”

“See, what you need, Agent Washington,” Sarge says, with a tone of imparting great wisdom, “is an assistant.”

Ah. There it is. “No,” Wash says flatly. “Really, no, I don’t need-”

“That’s where you’re in luck,” Sarge barrels on as if Wash hadn’t said a word, “‘Cause you got one!” He waves a datapad in front of Wash’s face; it takes him a moment to grab hold of it and still Sarge’s hand so he can read the words.

Reassignment orders, official and signed off on by a commanding officer. Irrefutable.

In that moment, Wash hates Donald Alexander Doyle with every fibre of his body.

/

Wash enters the training room with a cloud of dread hanging over him. His drills are tough, but Sarge - he’s crazy, unpredictable, with a logic that defies common understanding. There’s no telling what kind of crazy stuff he might come up with for drills.

His fears are realized the moment he sets eyes on the structure Sarge and the group of trainees are gathered around. “What,” he says sharply, “is that?”

“Just a little hoop our trainees have to jump through,” Sarge says, chuckling to himself in a very satisfied manner.

“Alright,” Wash endeavours to remain calm. “But why is it _on fire_?”

“A test of might and fortitude!” Sarge enthuses, “Only a true soldier would throw themself through a burning ring of fire for the good of their comrades!”

“I’ve volunteered to jump through first, sir,” Andersmith pipes up, because of course he has.

“No,” Wash says firmly, “No, _no one_ is jumping through a _ring of fire_ , there is no _way_ I’m letting any one of you _risk_ yourselves like-”

At the back of the hall he distinctly catches someone giggle, followed by a hissed whisper of “Shut _up,_ Karen!” The hint of a smile appears on a few faces before the trainees can catch it; someone coughs rather obviously into their fist.

Wash feels his shoulders sag. “You’re not really going to make them jump through a ring of fire.”

Almost as one, the trainees burst into fits of giggles. Sarge, in front of them, is grinning from ear to ear. “You’re too tense, Washington!” he crows, “Can’t take a joke!”

“I can take-” Wash cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Alright, fine, you got me. That was, yeah, that was funny.”

When the laughter finally dies down, Wash crosses his arms and says, “So, _Colonel_ , did you have any _actual_ plans for training today? Or are we going to spend three hours horsing around?”

“I don’t suppose you noticed how much it rained last night,” Sarge says, which at this point in time is a particularly irritating non-sequitur.

“It always rains, it’s a rainforest,” Wash says snappishly.

“And I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of, perhaps been a participant in, what certain UNSC drill sergeants call the Suicide Mud Run?” Sarge asks.

_Oooohh. Sneaky, old man_. “I may have had such an experience, once upon a time.” Wash can feel himself grinning, which is not the expression he expected to be wearing today.

The words ‘Suicide Mud Run’ seem to have sparked a sharp change in mood among the trainees; now they all seem to be experiencing the sense of dread that had hung over Wash this morning as he entered the training room.

“This is gonna fucking suck, isn’t it,” Bitters says flatly.

Wash claps his hands together and says with a certain relish, “That’s one way of putting it, Lieutenant.”

Suddenly he’s not feeling so pessimistic about training with Sarge after all.

 


End file.
